


Huddled

by kittenofdoomage



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Angst, Claiming, F/M, Fluff, Knotting, Monster of the Week, Omega Reader, Reader-Insert, Romance, Smut, Soulmates, danger to reader, injury to reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-11 02:51:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10453305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenofdoomage/pseuds/kittenofdoomage
Summary: The reader, an Omega, finds an injured and unconscious Alpha on the side of the road with only a single piece of I.D in his wallet, naming him as Dean Winchester. She takes him back to her house and dressed his wounds, and when he wakes, he can’t remember anything.





	

 

You hadn’t seen rain like this in years, and it was a struggle to see as you steered your car down the quiet highway. The headlights of your beat up old Ford truck just about showed you the few metres ahead, and you crawled along at a few miles an hour, not wanting to risk a crash in the middle of nowhere.

Sometimes, you regretted deciding to stay in your dad’s old house in the middle of nowhere. Especially when storm season rolled in.

The headlights flashed up ahead as you pressed the full beam on, and something in the road moved, prompting you to slam your brakes on. Your car trundled to a halt, and you sat still for a moment, narrowing your eyes to try and catch a glimpse of whatever it was. Most likely, it was a deer that had been hit by one of the big trucks that came along, and you’d be unable to do anything about it.

A hand stretched out into the road, bloodied fingers scratching along the yellow lines, and your heart froze. Within seconds, you were scrambling from the truck, moving quickly but cautiously towards the very clearly human figure on the floor. Upon reaching them, they rolled over, revealing a man in his thirties, who looked like he’d gotten into a fight with a lawnmower and lost.

You bit your lip, dropping to one knee, hovering your hands over him just as thunder clapped overhead, making you duck in fright. “Sir?” you called, barely audible over the rain. The man groaned, his eyes flickering open for a second, and you caught sight of hazy green. He had what looked like a bullet hole in his jacket, but there was no blood coming from it - most of the blood was on his forehead, trickling down behind his ear.

Glancing back towards your truck, you frowned, wondering just how heavy he was. He was barely conscious and obviously badly injured, but the bullet hole put you off calling the emergency services. Gingerly, you patted along the lines of his soaked jeans, snatching your hand back as you felt the outline of a gun in his waistband.

Who the fuck was this guy?

The rain increased in pressure, and you wiped water from your eyes, returning to your survey of his pockets. In his jacket, you found a wallet and you pulled it out, having to wipe your eyes again as you rooted around for any I.D. Finally, the thin piece of plastic slid into your fingers, and you read it in the hampered light of your truck headlights.

_ Dean Winchester. Lawrence, Kansas. _

“Long way from home, Dean,” you muttered, pocketing the wallet for now. Slowly, you removed the gun you’d found in his waistband, making sure the safety was on and putting that into the inside pocket of your jacket. You had no idea who this guy was; you weren’t leaving him armed.

Looking around, you didn’t see any other cars on the highway, and you stood straight, jogging back to your truck with a grimace at the squishy feeling in your wet shoes. You opened the back door of the cab, and ran back to the man on the floor, hooking your hands underneath his armpits. He didn’t make a sound as you dragged him along the tarmac to your truck, and you grunted loudly as you hefted him upwards into the cab. It was hard going, his body a dead weight and when you finally got him onto the backseat, you took a second, taking deep breaths to recover.

Climbing back into the front and shutting the door, you looked over the seat to see the soaked, unconscious stranger slumped across the seat, drops of rainwater mingling with blood as it slowly covered his face. You sighed heavily, focusing back on the road, knowing home was only a few minutes away.

As the wheels started moving along the wet road, you swore softly under your breath.

You were going to have to carry him into the house as well.

*****

The rain was still falling hard as you dropped Dean on the carpet in your sitting room, lashing noisily against the thin windows of your old house. Irrationally, your brain decided to remind you of the to-do list you had in regards to the upkeep of the place; replacing the storm windows was the first thing on it. Dean groaned, shifting a little on the floor, gradually creating a puddle of water underneath his soaked body.

Leaving him alone wasn’t your first option, but you had his gun, and you needed to get towels to stop him soaking through the upholstery. With a quick check that he was still out cold, you left the room, heading up the stairs to the airing cupboard on the landing. Grabbing a few towels, you turned, quickly making your way back to the unconscious patient, finding him unresponsive and still in the same spot.

It was a difficult chore not to dribble over the handsome strange you’d picked up on the side of the road; possible serial killer or not. He was drop dead gorgeous, with full pink lips and a smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. Long dark lashes rested against pale skin, and you wondering just how green those eyes you’d only had a glimpse of were.

“Mysterious boy, Dean Winchester,” you muttered, pulling his arms free of the sodden jacket, balling it up and throwing it across the room. Underneath, he was wearing a flannel shirt and a t-shirt, and you wondered if he’d only been so heavy to drag because of the amount of layers he was wearing. His clothes were torn in several places, and superficial wounds marked his skin with red. You frowned, tracing one injury, wondering if anything was bad enough to need stitches.

You didn’t fancy calling the police because you’d dragged some guy home, and he’d bled out on the floor. It was a good thing you planned on replacing the carpet.

Dean stirred, and you froze, unsure if you wanted him awake just yet. For a few seconds, you watched him, before pulling off the flannel shirt, throwing that across the room to join his jacket. The t-shirt was a little more complicated, and after a few moments of trying, you gave up trying to remove it, and stood up with a frustrated growl. Crossing the room to the desk, that contained more clutter than you wanted to acknowledge, you rooted around and came up with a pair of scissors, returning to the unconscious man, and cutting his clothes off.

The cold metal touching his skin seemed to be enough stimuli for him, and his eyes snapped open, pupils going from thick black circles to a pinpoint as he saw you, frozen above him with scissors in one hand and a cut up shirt in the other.

“Hi,” you squeaked, not sure what to do. Dean blinked, then looked around, confusion on his expression.

“Where am I?” he asked, breathing out, eyes darting all over the place. He frowned deeply, pushing himself up on his thick muscular arms, and you shuffled backwards on your knees to give him space. “Um…” he paused and shook his head. “Who am I?”

“Oh.” Your hands dropped to your sides. “That’s not good.”

“I’ll say,” Dean groaned, bringing the heel of his hand upwards and digging it between his eyes. “My head hurts.” He pulled it back when it came away wet, blood staining his palm. “In the category of things that are not good, where does this rate?”

You tilted your head to the side, regarding him carefully. “You seem remarkably calm about being in a stranger’s house when you’re bleeding.”

He shrugged. “I guess it seems a little familiar. Maybe I do this a lot.” His eyes met yours again. “So I don’t know you?” You shook your head, and Dean shrugged. “And I don’t know me.” He sighed and laid his head back on the floor. Watching him for a few seconds, his reaction seemed a little off, and you leaned over him, trying not to stare at the solidly lickable stretch of stomach beneath you.

“Your name is Dean Winchester. According to the I.D. I found on you.” Mentioning the gun didn’t seem like a good idea, so you bypassed that, giving him a bright smile. “You were in the road and it was raining, so I shoved you in my truck and brought you here. I’m Y/N.”

Dean nodded, not looking at you, his eyes focused on the ceiling. “Well, thanks, I guess.” You blinked, expecting more of a reaction. “My head really hurts,” he added, before rolling onto his side and vomiting across the carpet. You jumped up, away from the mess, covering your mouth as he dry heaved, obviously having very little in his stomach to throw up.

“I think you have a concussion,” you whispered, trying not to gag at the smell. Puke was not your strong point, and a very evil little part of you wished you’d left him on the road.

“That sucks,” he groaned, covering his face with bruised and bloodied arms.

“Don’t pass out,” you instructed, throwing one of the towels over the puke patch – you’d burn the house down later if necessary. Dean rolled, his eyes falling shut, so you nudged him with one soaked shoe. He grunted in response, and you scowled. “I mean it. You could have a head injury.”

“I don’t remember who I am. Or anything. Head injury is pretty much guaranteed,” he snipped, chuckling as you growled in frustration. “Hey,” he called, reaching out to tug at your wet pants leg and looking up at you with bright wet eyes. “You smell really good,” he muttered, before he promptly passed out.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” you groaned, rolling your eyes in irritation. Despite how handsome he was, he was definitely more trouble than you’d signed up for. Bending down, you went through his pockets again, hoping to find a cellphone or anything with someone you could contact to collect him. You’d been happy to help at first, but right now, this was more than you felt you could handle.

It took about three seconds of you leaning over his naked chest before it hit you.

Mr-Handsome-And-Hurt was an Alpha. Despite the blood, rain, vomit and everything else he was covered in, he smelled like freshly made cocoa, baked fruit pies and leather. You couldn’t even stop yourself from inhaling the scent deeply, and when you realised what you were doing, you froze, eyes widening as you looked down. He was a complete mess, and yet somehow the most appealing thing you’d ever seen.

You shook yourself, wondering just how ridiculous you looked, pining over an unconscious stranger like a freshly presented Omega that couldn’t keep her ovaries to herself. “Come on, Y/N. You know better than that,” you growled at yourself, turning to strip Dean’s clothes off and clean up, both satisfied and dissatisfied that he didn’t have a cellphone on him.

Twenty minutes later, he was down to his boxers and on the couch, a warm blanket over him. You’d cleaned up his face and his wounds, including the rather nasty looking gash on his head. It had taken everything you had to clear up the sick, and even more to take his socks off because feet were disgusting no matter how attractive someone was. Dean didn’t appear to be moving anytime soon, so you left him there, heading upstairs to change out of your wet things before you ended up with pneumonia.

As you stripped down, carefully hiding his gun in the bedside table, you ran through a checklist in your head, the way you always did. For one, Dean was an Alpha, and they didn’t carry a brilliant reputation, but you could always hedge your bets on him not  _ knowing _ he was an Alpha. Especially since you were an unattached Omega, a little too close to her heat for comfort. You needed to find out who he was, and try to jog his memory, so you could get his family or girlfriend or whatever to come get him.

Your laptop caught your attention, and you frowned, sitting down on the bed, naked apart from your panties. Opening the computer up, you waited for it to load, before googling “Dean Winchester”.

Well, that wasn’t good.

_ Dean Winchester and his brother Sam Winchester, notorious serial killers, were shot dead in Ankeny, Iowa. They committed a series of murders across the USA. _

You scanned the article, purposefully ignoring the list of victims, and spotting the date, which was nearly five years previous. But clearly, this Dean Winchester was alive and kicking. There was no mugshot or anything on the article, and you frowned, clicking back to Google and finding another suggested Dean Winchester. This one was a gay florist in San Francisco, and there was a photo but it was definitely not the Dean on your couch.

The third link was to a series of books by Carver Edlund. You clicked, raising your eyebrows at the subject matter contained, before shaking your head and closing the laptop.

After a few seconds of gathering your thoughts, you dressed in a pair of sweats and a loose t-shirt, before heading downstairs, trying to put the thoughts of serial killers out of your mind. Dean was still unconscious, but he wasn’t muttering or fitful, and he didn’t look sick. There was no fresh blood from his wounds, and he seemed to be sleeping peacefully on the slightly too small couch.

“What in the hell have I gotten myself into?” you muttered, turning on your heel and marching into the kitchen.

*****

A loud thud made you wake up suddenly from the uncomfortable position you’d fallen asleep in on the old recliner your dad should have thrown away years ago. You sat bolt upright, seeing the discarded blanket on the floor and the huddled stranger from the night before nowhere in sight. Sunshine flooded the sitting room, and you winced as you stood, pins and needles running up from your toes.

“Dean?” you called, and the downstairs bathroom door opened. Dean emerged, his hands covering his groin over the boxer shorts he was still wearing. “You okay?” you asked, frowning.

“Yeah, sorry, I was… I couldn’t find the toilet paper.” He grinned sheepishly. “Y/N, right?”

You nodded, smiling at him, picking up his blanket from the floor. “How’s the head? Any clearer?”

He shook it a little, giving you a lopsided grin. “Nah. Only thing cropping up is a headache. I remember waking up here, and you telling me you found me and… blowing chunks -” he paused, avoiding your eyes. “Real sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” you assured him, folding the blanket and placing it on the sofa. “How about I get you some clothes? Your stuff from last night is in the laundry, some of my dad’s old stuff should fit you.”

Dean paled a little, looking around. “Your dad?”

You gave him a smile, waving off his concern. “Don’t worry. He’s been dead for a year. I inherited this old place. Just haven’t got around to throwing stuff away.” It didn’t hurt to talk about your dad anymore - he’d been sick for a long time before he died, and you’d adjusted. “You remember how to make coffee?”

Dean laughed, nodding. “Yeah, I can handle that.”

“Good, because I’m dying for one. You go make it, and I’ll grab you some clothes.” You walked past him, having to force your neck not to turn your head to look at his butt. It was a good bet it was a sculpted, nice ass but you didn’t want to dig yourself in any further than you already were.

When you returned downstairs with a pair of old combats, a shirt and some socks, Dean was sat at the kitchen table with two mugs of steaming coffee. He smiled up as you walked in and gratefully took the clothes you offered. 

“You said last night that you found some I.D on me?”

You nodded, pulling his wallet out of your pocket and sliding it across the table. “I googled you.”

Dean’s eyes went wide. “You did what now?”

The giggled that left you was high pitched, and you covered your mouth for a moment. “I looked you up on the internet. You’re either a serial killer that died five years ago, or the protagonist of a series of books written by Carver Edlund.”

“Well that’s comforting,” he commented, turning in his chair, pulling the jeans out from the pile. He slid them on as you sipped at your coffee, unable to tear your eyes away from him. “I guess I better hope this memory thing solves itself in time.”

You shrugged. “I guess so.”

He stood up to buckle the jeans, pulling them over the curve of his ass, and you wondered if you were visibly dribbling. Dean didn’t seem to notice either way, reaching down for the t-shirt. He slipped it over his head, stretching his arms upwards as he pulled it on, and you suddenly had enough material to fill your spank bank for at least six months.

You cleared your throat, looking away as Dean glanced at you. “So, do you want to go to the hospital or…”

“I don’t know. What if I am this serial killer?” he asked, sitting down again, a frown fixed on his face. “I don’t feel like a serial killer.”

“What does a serial killer feel like?” you questioned, unable to stop smiling. Dean chuckled, picking up his mug of coffee. “I still think you should go to the hospital, but it’s your choice. Just warn me if you’re gonna kill me in my sleep.”

He smiled a little at that, and for a moment both of you sipped at your coffee. After a few seconds, Dean put his cup down, looking at you quizzically. “Are you wearing perfume or something?”

“No?” you replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Sorry,” he muttered, looking sheepish. “It’s just, since I woke up, I can smell this… I don’t know, this scent. Like freshly cut grass, brewed hops and bacon cheese burgers.” He shook his head, not seeing your eyes widen. “It’s intoxicating.”

“I don’t know,” you lied, sticking out your bottom lip. “Maybe it’s the head injury?”

Dean shrugged, standing up and draining his coffee. He put the mug on the side, looking over at you, the expression on his face giving away his suspicion of you. “Must be. How about you take me back out to the highway, and we’ll see if I can find something that jogs my memory?”

You smiled, grateful for a distraction. “Sounds like a plan, Batman.” He blinked at that, and you paused before standing up. “What?”

“Nothin’,” he said, shaking his head. “Just a flash. Like I was telling someone I was Batman.” He stopped, looking like a little kid as he spoke. “Hey, maybe that’s who I am?”

Stepping over to the sink, you placed your coffee mug next to his. “Nah, you’re more of a Red Hood type.”

*****

The storm from the night before had left the air fresh and clear, and you wound the windows down in the truck before starting it, smiling over at Dean. He sat in the passenger seat, frowning at is surroundings.

“I don’t feel right sitting here,” he mumbled, running his hand along the dash.

“Obviously you’re normally the driver, but while your head’s outta commission, I’m gonna take the wheel,” you replied, smiling at him and focusing your eyes on the road. Dean didn’t speak as you pulled out onto the highway, a few scattered vehicles passing by on the opposite side.

The site where you’d found Dean was about two miles from your house, and it looked vastly different in the daylight. As you pulled up, Dean climbed from the truck, with you close behind. He stopped, watching two old Chevys drive past, one of them sleek and black.

“This is it,” you called, snapping his attention to you. “Right here. The rain seems to have washed everything clean though.” Dean turned, his fingers raising to his head to touch the still jagged looking wound at his hairline. “Anything?”

He stepped closer, down into the brush at the side of the road, looking at his feet for a few moments before looking around. “No. Nothing.” He frowned, and you sighed, folding your arms over your chest. “I didn’t have a cellphone? Or anything?”

You swallowed, looking away for a split second. “You had a gun,” you whispered. “I took it, just in case… just in case you were dangerous.”

Dean stared at you for a second, before nodding, his hands on his hips. “Yeah, that’s a sensible course of action.” He kicked at the grass around him. “I gotta admit, this is kinda frustrating.”

“Shall we go back to the house?” you asked, and Dean shrugged, apparently unsure what to do with himself. “Or, we can drive down to Macabees. They do great waffles.” He perked up, and you smiled. “Come on.” You gestured to the truck, not voicing your hope that someone would see him and recognise him.

He hesitated for a few seconds, taking one last look around at the highway and the fields around it, before walking back over and climbing into the truck. Macabees was a few miles away, in town, and this time, you engaged Dean in conversation, because sitting in the quiet was unbearable.

“So, any idea what you like to eat?” you started, and Dean glanced over at you, a slow smirk appearing on his face.

“I’m thinking burgers. Although waffles sound real nice.” He frowned, shifting in his seat. “Hey, how comes I still remember what burgers are? I mean, shouldn’t it wipe everything from my head, not just personal memories and life experience?” You shrugged; you weren’t a medical professional by any stretch, and had no clue how the human brain worked. Dean made a contemplative noise and looked at the road ahead. “Brains are weird.”

You hummed in agreement, flexing your fingers on the wheel as you continued steering the truck down the straight highway. “I’m out of conversation starters. There’s really no point asking where you grew up, huh?”

Dean chuckled. “Probably not. But what about you? This seems like a nice area. You grow up here?”

“No, my parents separated when I was young. My dad moved here when I was about six; he was born here. I’m a Chicago girl,” you responded, smiling. “I moved out when my dad got sick. Settled down, liked the quiet. When he died, I didn’t have much reason to leave.”

“No husband or anything elsewhere?”

Laughter spilled from your lips as you shook your head. “God, no. I’ve been single for longer than I care to count. But it’s not so bad,” you shrugged. “I don’t have to share the hot water.” Dean gave a little laugh, and you glanced over at him. “I’d ask you if you have a girlfriend, but you seem like the free type. Don’t like being tied down.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What gives you that impression?”

“I don’t think I’d have found you in the middle of the night at the side of the road if you had a girlfriend and a home to go to.”

Dean tilted his head in agreement, but smiled all the same. “Doesn’t mean I’m not attached to someone. Maybe they’re just not that concerned with my whereabouts?” The look you gave him made him laugh again and he pulled one leg up onto the seat, slouching down in a very carefree manner. “You’re right, I don’t feel attached. Certainly not Alpha to Omega attached.” Your head whipped round as he chuckled lightly. “Did you think I hadn’t noticed? I know I’m an Alpha, sweetheart. Took me a while to pick up on it, but you’re definitely an Omega.”

“That why you asked if I had a husband?” you asked cautiously, and Dean sniffed, frowning. “What? I know Alphas. Went to school with one, and he was busting to get his knot into anything.”

He sighed. “I don’t think I’m that sort of Alpha, Y/N. For one, I’m in my thirties according to that license. Maybe I’m a broken Alpha.”

“You don’t seem broken to me,” you replied quietly, effectively killing the conversation. Macabees came into view a few moments later, and you couldn’t help but exhale in relief, quickly parking the truck in the lot and jumping out. “Come on, Dean Winchester. No matter who you are, you must like waffles with syrup.”

He smiled as he followed you from the truck into the diner, sliding into the opposite side of the booth you picked. You both scooped up menus as Delilah, the elderly waitress that had been here for longer than you could remember, sashayed over with a smile on her face. “Hello, Y/N,” she greeted, pulled her pad and pen from the old pink apron that had seen better days. Her eyes dropped over to Dean, and she frowned. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again, Agent.”

“Agent?” you asked, glancing to Dean with wide eyes.

Delilah smiled. “He was in here yesterday with another agent. Asking about the odd goings on up at Darlands Farm.” She looked between you and Dean, who appeared at a loss, his expression blank. “Although the place went up in flames during that storm last night, so I can only assume whatever you were lookin’ into was fixed.” Her eyes sparkled as you stared at her, unsure what to say or how to explain Dean’s lack of knowledge about his visit. “Anyway, what can I get you kids?”

Neither of you spoke for a moment, before Dean cleared his throat. “I’ll take a bacon burger with a side of mini-waffles and syrup.”

You smiled tightly, putting your menu down. “I’ll have the same, Del. With a side of fries and a coffee.” Dean raised his hand, and you amended the order. “Two coffees.”

The elderly woman grinned, quickly scribbling down the order and taking the menus. “You got it, Y/N.” She moved away and you leaned forward, folding your hands together on top of the table.

“Well that explains the gun. But what was going on at Darland Farm? I know they’d had a lot of cattle mutilations.”  You paused, noticing that the blank expression remained on his face. “Of course, you don’t know. Sorry.”

He cracked a smile, using one finger to drag a napkin across the table. “It’s okay. So I’m an agent, huh? Wonder if I’m FBI. Maybe I’m part of some Mulder and Scully team.”

“X-Files? That’s where your brain goes?” You giggled, looking up at Delilah returned with the coffees. “I think you might be a nerd, Dean.” You thanked Delilah, who walked away again, before stirring your coffee and adding a little sugar. “But she said you had a partner. Maybe they’re still in town? If they can help you.”

“Might be an idea. We can always take a walk after? Maybe my partner will recognise my handsome face?” Dean grinned and you couldn’t help but laugh at him again.

The meal passed with enjoyable conversation about films and television shows, during which Dean revealed his tastes to be slightly different to yours – for one, he was much more into eighties rock than you were. Nevertheless, it was one of the most pleasant breakfasts you’d shared with anyone in a long time, and it only compounded the immense loneliness you’d felt in the last few years. Even if Dean weren’t an Alpha, you’d enjoy his company, and even though you’d only known him for a little over twelve hours, you knew you were going to be sad to let him go.

When you’d both finished, you got up and paid at the counter, blushing furiously when Delilah muttered something about how nice it was to see you smiling, and with such a handsome Alpha. Dean didn’t hear anything, waiting by the door for you to join him. Outside the diner, the sun shone brilliantly, and you couldn’t help the thrill that ran through you as Dean’s hand settled on the small of your back as you stepped down out onto the parking lot.

For a few moments, the both of you walked in silence, throwing each other little smiles. Dean looked carefree, and you wondered how he would be if he had everything together in his head, if he knew who he was. You couldn’t deny it was a little exciting to think he might be an FBI agent, and your inner teenager was romanticising the situation left, right and centre. But, the realistically adult part of you knew that he could be anyone, and you didn’t want to get ahead of yourself in such a short time – you knew better than that.

Honestly, you did.

The streets around the diner were pretty quiet for a Wednesday morning, and when Dean stopped to stare at a house you didn’t recognise, you stopped too, watching him carefully. “You okay?”

“This house seems really familiar,” he muttered, leaning one hand on the gate. He didn’t make any move to enter, keeping his eyes focused on the front of the property, unsure how to continue. Following his gaze, you spotted white tape along the back of the house and you frowned, pointing it out to him. “Police tape?”

“I thought that was normally yellow?” you replied, following him as he pushed through the gate and round to the back of the house. The garden was all taped off, and as the you peered through, you saw the damage done to the back of the property and the blood still staining the back veranda. “Well, I guess that drags up a few more questions.”

“Dean!”

The shout of his name made him turn, and you both frowned as a tall, shaggy haired man climbed out of a Black Chevrolet classic at the kerb, quickly making his way towards you both. “Yes?” Dean asked, not recognising the man at all. He came to a stop in front of you, throwing you a strange look before reaching for Dean, who promptly dodged out of his hold. “Do I know you?”

“Er, yeah?” the man replied, his face wrinkling up in irritation. “I’m your brother? Remember, Sam?”

“Nope,” Dean announced, and Sam deflated, looking at you again.

You stepped forward, gesturing to Dean as you spoke, giving the newcomer a sheepish grin. “I found him at the side of the road last night. Beaten, bloodied –“

“Gun-toting,” interrupted the green-eyed man with a grin, and you chuckled.

“Gun-toting. I patched him up, and let him sleep on my couch, but he doesn’t seem to remember much about who he is.” You paused, waiting for a reaction from Sam, but he seemed pretty relaxed in the face of an amnesiac brother. “So you’re brothers then? Not agents?”

“Agents?” Sam asked, and you nodded.

“Del at the diner, she said Dean was an agent, but he doesn’t remember anything about that. I googled his name, but all I got was a serial killer, a gay florist and the character in these books, er, Supernatural by Carver Edlund?” Sam paled a little, and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“No, we’re, er, we’re EPA agents. But I lost track of Dean last night while we were investigating the cattle deaths up at Darland Farm. I’ve been looking for him all morning. I was driving past and saw him, and just…” he trailed off, smiling nervously. “Sorry. I was worried.”

You glanced at Dean, who shrugged, but looked a little relieved nonetheless. “A family of EPA agents. Well, that’s a little less exciting than the X-Files, Dean.” He grinned, punching you in the shoulder, and you giggled at him, missing the concerned look on Sam’s face at your behaviour. “How about we go back to my place, and… wait, why would an EPA agent need a gun?” You asked, and Sam looked at Dean, who frowned at the excellent point you raised.

“Dean’s a maverick,” Sam blurted out. “Never plays by the rules. Didn’t get accepted into the FBI, but he’s licensed to carry. I guess he had it on him in case we met some crazy farmer with a shotgun, or something.”

“Or something,” you repeated, and Sam nodded, his smile tight as he obviously lied to you. There was something else going on, and everything in your gut was telling you not to trust him. Dean didn’t seem overly concerned at the explanation, and you folded your arms over your chest. “Look, come back up to my place. I’ve got all of his things from last night, they should be done washing, and then you can get back to your… EPA business.”

*****

“Is it weird that I’ve known you less than a day, but I’m sad to see you go?” you asked, opening the bedside drawer and pulling out the gun you’d removed from Dean’s unconscious body. Dean was leaning against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest as he watched you turn and cross the bedroom towards him. Sam was waiting downstairs, ready to take his brother home, wherever that was for them.

“No. If I remembered my cell number, I’d be leaving it for you,” he returned, a smirk on his plush lips. “Not every day I get to meet a real guardian angel.”

You smiled, holding out the gun. He took it, checking the safety, and you wondered how he knew how to handle a gun, but didn’t remember his own name. “You think Sam can help you get your memories back?”

Dean shrugged, sliding the gun into the back of his pants like he’d done it a thousand times before. It was another question to dump on top of the “who is Dean Winchester” pile, because you were doubting Sam’s claims that they were EPA agents. “Who knows? But his I.D says Winchester, same as mine. I don’t think he’s lying about who he is.”

“So, you don’t think you’re an EPA agent either?”

He gave you a quirky little smile. “Baby, I don’t know who I am, but I don’t feel like a burnt down farm and cattle mutilations is something the Environmental Protection Agency would be dealing with. And I’m not the only one carrying a gun.”

Your eyes widened a little, but you smiled anyway. “Well, whatever you guys are, I’m gonna guess it’s dangerous. But,” you paused, daring to place a hand on his shoulder with the barest amount of affection, “if you ever need rescuing from a ditch in the middle of the night again, I’m your gal.”

Dean smiled again, this time showing a little teeth, and you felt your heart constrict at the thought of watching him walk out of the door. You weren’t sure how you’d fallen so hard for a man you knew  _ nothing _ about in under twenty-four hours, but damn, you’d crashed hard. Maybe he felt something too, but you were giving that line of thinking a really,  _ really _ wide berth.

“So, Sam’s waiting,” he breathed, and you realised you’d been stood with your eyes locked on his for at least ten seconds, and you jerked your hand back like you’d been burned. The apologetic smile on your face was maybe a little too forced, as was the sharp nod you gave him.

“Of course. I’ll walk you out.”

There was nothing but the sound of footsteps as both of you headed down the stairs, finding Sam sat on the couch. He stood slowly as you approached, a tight smile on his face. His eyes darted between you and Dean, one eyebrow quirking upwards slightly.

“We good?” he asked Dean, and the other man nodded, avoiding looking at you as you slid your hands in your pant pockets, unsure what else to do. Dean bent, picking up the bag of freshly laundered clothes you’d fished out for him. “Thanks for taking care of him,” Sam offered, genuine in his thanks.

“Not a problem. What kind of person would I be if I left someone to die at the side of the road?” you joked, earning awkward smiles from both men. Dean finally looked at you, his cheeks a little red as his smile withered. “Take care of yourselves,” you added, quietly, standing back out of the way as Sam herded Dean towards the door.

“We will,” Sam promised. He opened the front door, walking out first, heading for the sleek black Chevy he’d followed you in.

Dean hesitated on the porch, looking back at you, bag of clothes clasped in one hand, his eyes shining with something you didn’t quite recognise. “Would it be… would it be okay if I called? When I get my memory back?”

You couldn’t stop your eyes darting to Sam, who stopped to look back, his eyes watching both of you with curiosity and concern. Sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you contemplated your answer, before allowing a soft smile to take hold of your expression. “Sure,” you lied, knowing he’d never call.

He’d remember who he was and forget all about the Omega who picked him up off of the side of the road. You’d caught something from your encounter, but you didn’t believe anything would come of it. Dean was an Alpha, and a mysterious, possibly dangerous one at that. He wouldn’t call.

“Great,” he replied, smiling widely, before taking you by surprise and leaning in, kissing the side of your mouth. It was chaste but sweet, and knocked you off kilter, leaving you staring at the back of his head as he turned to follow his brother to the car.

Then the wheels of the Chevy were spinning in the mud as Sam pulled the vehicle away from the drive, and Dean was waving from the passenger seat. You raised your hand, wiggling your fingers a little, before turning and walking back into the house.

Somehow, you couldn’t bear to watch him drive away.

*****

Two days and six hours had passed. Another storm had rolled into the valley, and you still couldn’t stop thinking about Dean. He hadn’t called, and part of you didn’t expect him to, but the other part dismissed it, reasoning that he might not have his memory back yet.

You still weren’t sure why you were so fixated on him, but it was distracting you from everything. Work was slow, and didn’t keep your attention, and when the first twinges of your heat made you drop a case of peanut butter, your boss had given you the rest of the day off.

Sometimes it helped to have a sympathetic manager.

Rain was lashing down outside the house, and you’d opted for an NCIS marathon, accompanied by ice cream, while trying to ignore the flaring cramps in your belly. You’d taken all the suppressants, so it wouldn’t progress further than the cravings and the twinges, but it was still a pain in the ass.

As season three started on your TV, you were beginning to doze off, the empty ice cream carton on the floor in front of your couch, and your blanket hanging halfway down your thighs - you’d pushed it off in an attempt to cool down. It was comfortable, and you’d even managed to tune out the rain slapping into the rickety windows.

When the crash of glass echoed through the house, followed by a thud, you had jumped, knocking over the empty carton, your blanket discarded as you stood and faced the intruder stood in the hallway. Whoever it was, was soaked through, swaddled in a thick hooded coat, water dripping from the fabric onto the floor.

“Who are you?” you cried, making yourself heard over the suddenly loud sound of thunder and rain. The figure lifted its head, revealing sharp, wicked looking teeth and glowing eyes, but no other discernible features, and you screamed, backing away, bare feet padding on the carpet.

“Sweet little Omega bitch,” the thing snarled, stepping closer to you, and you whipped your head round, trying to figure out an escape plan as terror pumped through your veins. “I want the hunter. He’ll come for you.”

“What hunter?” you whimpered, cowering against the wall, feeling a little like you might piss yourself in fear. The thing got closer, smelling like something foul, and you wrinkled your nose in disgust.

“You pulled him from the road. He’ll come for you,” it growled, raising one clawed hand to touch your face. You shied away, only to have its thick, slimy fingers grab your face and hold you still. It inhaled, its face far too close to yours for comfort. “Will he save you?”

You tried to shake your head in its hold, but it had you firmly contained. “Do you mean Dean?” It hissed, claws digging into your skin painfully, and you felt something trickle down your face. “He doesn’t know me.”

The thing laughed, or at least, it sounded like laughter. “You’re an Omega. Perfect bait.” You opened your mouth to argue, only to be cut off by your own scream as the creature threw you to the floor. It stood over you as you rolled onto your back, reaching down to grab the front of the thin sleep vest you wore. “Omegas always make the sweetest treats.” Claws ripped through the fabric and you screamed again as the sharp talons raked across your belly.

Your last thoughts as the creature descended on you was that this wasn’t how you’d wanted to die, and that Dean Winchester definitely wasn’t an EPA agent.

*****

The first thing you felt as you opened your eyes was a burst of pain that seemed to cover your entire body. Darkness surrounded you at first, your eyes taking a few seconds to adjust to the darkness. Thunder crashed outside, and you realised you were still in your house, tied to a chair in your bedroom.

You lifted your head, whimpering in pain, looking down to see yourself tied to your dresser chair, feet securely bound to the wooden legs, and yours arms wrenched behind your back, almost numb from the position. There were thick but shallow strips cut across your bare stomach, your left bicep and one across the length of your right thigh; nothing was bleeding, but it hurt like a sonofabitch. As you blinked to try and see more, you realised the wounds looked almost burnt around the edges, like someone had cauterised them to stop them bleeding.

A thud echoed from outside the closed room, and your head snapped up, the action almost immediately regrettable as you felt another wound across your neck. Whatever had taken you hostage had probably caused the damage, and fear swelled in your belly that it might be coming back for more.

Your teeth chattered with the cold as you focused your gaze on the door, hearing a slight creak in the hallway. For what seemed like an eternity, nothing happened; then the door opened half an inch, the barrel of a gun slowly sliding through, illuminated by the landing light.

“Y/N?” someone whispered, and you gasped, recognising Dean’s voice. You cried out his name, choking on half a sob as the door opened fully, Dean’s panicked gaze landed on you. “Shit.”

He holstered his weapon, moving swiftly into the room and almost sliding to his knees beside you, his hands working to undo the ropes around your legs. The noise you made was full of pain, and as he freed your legs, you started to cry. He looked up, his expression full of worry and guilt as he turned his attention to your hands, finally freeing you completely, and dragging you into his lap.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, one hand holding your body close as the other cradled the back of your head. Your body reacted to him almost immediately, the fear melting away as you inhaled the unique scent of him; you couldn’t help yourself. “Shouldn’t have left you, I shouldn’t but I didn’t know.”

“W-what was that thing?” you sobbed, burying your face in his neck.

“Some type of fucked up ghoul witch,” he explained, but it made no sense to you as he did. “We were hunting it, it killed all those cattle and the owners at the farm we were investigating. Sam thought we got the last one, but they whammied me with an amnesia spell; that was before you found me.”

“You remember?” you asked, and he nodded, before frowning as you shivered violently. “I’m cold.”

“Shit, sweetheart, you’re like ice.” He reached over, dragging the top blanket from your bed, wrapping it around you. “Sam’s looking for the thing now. We’re gonna kill it, Y/N, I promise, and we’ll get you somewhere safe.”

Panic welled up in your throat at the thought of the thing still being alive, and your eyes widened. “It’s still here?” He nodded, smoothing your hair back from your face as he stood up with you, cradled you in his arms with ease and laying you on the bed. “Dean, it hurt me, I don’t -”

“I know, sweetheart, I know. Just hold on, yeah? When this thing feeds, it does it slow, but it’s gonna be pissed we killed all it’s clan.” He rolled you onto your back, checking the wounds that the ghoul witch had left on you so far. “We came back as quickly as we could. It didn’t have you alone for more than an hour.”

“It hurts,” you whispered, blinking away tears. Dean chewed on his bottom lip as he inspected your thigh and your stomach, fingers gently probing at the sore wounds. “Am I gonna die?”

“No,” he said, firmly, eyes darting up to meet yours, no lie on his face. “You are  _ not _ going to die, sweetheart.”

“Why did you come back?” you asked, curious despite your fear. “You didn’t have any reason to. I’m a stranger to you.” Dean didn’t answer, still checking your wounds. You were about to press the question, when Sam appeared in the doorway, gun in his hand and worry on his face.

Dean looked up, but Sam shook his head, and you knew it was bad. “I can’t find it,” he admitted, walking into the room, his eyes locking on your injuries. “Shit, is she -”

“She’s fine,” Dean snapped, standing up. “She’d have been better if we’d never left her behind.”

“I didn’t know,” Sam argued, and you frowned, reaching out with a shaky hand to clutch Dean’s forearm.

“Didn’t know what?” you prodded, but Dean shook you off, standing straight. “Dean?”

He looked at you with pleading eyes, shaking his head. “We’ll talk later. Right now, I need this thing dead. It’s marked you, Y/N, which means it will know where you are until we kill it.” He glanced to his brother. “Any tracks?”

Sam sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “It’s still in or near the house. Nothing leading away.”

“Dean -” you gasped, trying to sit up. 

Dean raised a hand towards you, not looking at you. “It’s okay, we’ll -”

“No! It said,” you sucked in a breath, looking up at him with terror eating at your heart, “it said you would come for me. It was using me as bait.” Dean’s head whipped round to look at you, before he looked back to Sam, and a loud bang echoed through the house.

“Kitchen,” he snapped, and Sam turned, taking off with his gun raised. “Stay here, I won’t be a second.”

“Dean, don’t, no, please -” you reached out, but he was already gone, leaving you alone in the bedroom, huddled on the bed underneath the blanket. Everything was quiet for a few moments, and you pushed yourself up into a seated position, hating how weak and helpless you felt.

The floorboards in the room creaked, and you looked around, wishing you had something to defend yourself with. A shadow moved, and the creature appeared in the dark doorway to your en-suite bathroom, and you shrieked, seeing its teeth shine in the light from the hallway. It was almost like it was smiling at you, and you scrambled backwards, trying to ignore the pain at the movement.

“I said he’d come,” it snarled, taking slow steps towards you. It hit the edge of the bed, long, taloned fingers reaching out for you, and you screamed, picking up the closest thing you could. The small ornate lamp smashed against its head with a crunch, and you fell backwards off the mattress, hearing the thing make a noise of anger. It leaped over the bed, cornering you against the wood panelling and you burst into tears.

“Get away from her!” Dean yelled, over the sound of the thunder outside, and you felt a second of relief before the thing had hold of you. Sharp claws dug into your neck as it yanked you from the floor, and you felt fresh blood drip down your skin. The ghoul witch was strong, and held you up with your feet dangling above the carpet, using you as a shield against the gun toting man in the doorway.

“Dean,” you whimpered, fresh tears sliding down your cheeks as you felt another claw grip your hip, breaking the skin easily.

“Let her go,” Dean growled, cocking the pistol in his hands, and you closed your eyes, wishing this was all some sort of horrifying dream.

The ghoul witch laughed, tightening its hold on you. “You think it will be that easy? You  _ murdered  _ my family.”

“Things like you don’t have family. You eat people,” Dean replied, not wavering in his aim. You cried out as the thing ripped it’s claws across your waist, letting red stain your skin even more. “I’m only gonna ask one more time; let her go.”

“Or you’ll what?” the ghoul witch spat, looking around your body to glare at him. “Let me go with a free pass? I’ve got the scent of your Omega.” It inhaled deeply, laughing maniacally as you shuddered and yelped in pain. “And what a sweet scent it is. Pity you didn’t let me have more time with her.”

Sam appeared in the doorway, his gun held aloft, pausing dramatically as he saw the situation in front of him. “Dean!”

The ghoul witch turned a little, hissing at the new threat. “I’m not afraid to die. But she is. I can taste it.”

“Dean…” you mewled, crying freely, in more pain than you’d ever felt in your life.

“She’s in heat too. Covered in the stink of her Alpha.”

“She’s not my Omega,” Dean replied, but his voice was thick with desperation, fingers clenching and unclenching around the gun. “I barely even know her.”

The thing bellowed in rage. “Liar. I know how your species work, hunter. You’re linked, connected,” it paused, face twisting even more at the disgust it felt, “ _ soulmates _ .” You choked, jerking in its hold as its claws sunk deeper. “You should feel the pain I feel.” It dragged its talons across your belly a little more, and you screamed, making Dean lurch, only to be stopped by Sam’s hand.

Your sobs filled the silent void as the standoff continued, and your eyes opened, locking on Dean, willing him to just fucking shoot you and put you out of your misery. But he wouldn’t. Despite the short time you’d known one another, the monster was right, and you hated that the romantic notion you’d craved when you were younger was now the reason you were going to die.

Thunder clapped outside, rain lashing against the bedroom window, and you sucked in a breath, closing your eyes tightly. There was only one way to end this.

With everything you had left, you bucked, landing a surprisingly powerful kick to the ghoul witch’s torso, and it released you with a shocked grunt. You hit the floor, screaming in pain as the creature’s claws were ripped from your body, leaving you bleeding on the carpet. Gunshots rang out, and you instinctively curled inwards, not moving even as the ghoul witch hit the ground dead with a resounding thud.

For the second time that night, you slipped into blackness, not wondering if you’d wake up this time.

*****

_ Beep. Beep. Beep. _

An irritating noise roused you, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d forgotten to turn your alarm off. You didn’t move to stop it though, feeling more tired than you’d felt in your life. Everything was heavy, and you felt no urge to care about the alarm.

_ Beep. Beep. Beep. _

“The doctors say you’re gonna wake up soon.” The male voice was new and familiar at the same time, and you tried to place it as he continued to speak. “And I’m a pussy. Because I should be waiting until you’re awake to tell you all this.”

_ Beep. Beep. Beep. _

“You’re gonna tear me a new one. Sam already did. Shouldn’t be getting attached in this life,” he sighed, and you heard a slight rustling sound, like fabric moving on fabric. “Not like I could help myself. Second I saw you, I didn’t know who I was but I knew I was yours. Never felt like that before about anyone.”

_ Beep. Beep. Beep. _

God, that alarm was annoying. Why didn’t he just turn it off?

“Cas tried to heal you, but ghoul witch wounds… they go deeper than he can do right now. The superficial stuff is done, but you’re gonna have some scarring, and we need to wait for whatever mystical venom that thing got in you is gone.” There was a short bark of laughter, but it sounded morose and without humor. “Then you can wake up, tell me I’m a dick, that you wish you’d never met me and we can continue on. But I can’t leave you until…” he sighed again, and you suddenly remembered his face.  _ Dean _ , your brain provided, and you felt like smiling.

_ Beep. Beep. Beep-beep. _

Did your heart just skip a beat? That was kinda lame.

“I think maybe you can hear me. And I wanna say that I’m sorry. For dragging you into my life, even if I didn’t know it was my life. Sam says there’s a certain amount of fate to these soulmate things, but…” he paused again, and you imagined him scrubbing a hand over his face, “I don’t know how true all that romantic crap is.”

_ Beep-beep. Beep-beep. _

“Y/N?” he asked, and you felt your fingers twitch. The simple movement sent a rush of sensation up your arm, and more came to you; noises of talking in the corridor, your own heartbeat and god, the beautiful smell of coffee.

You managed a cough, and Dean’s fingers touched yours.

“Y/N?” he called again, and you nodded, still not quite managing to make your eyelids obey so you could look at him. “Shit,” he cussed, and a few seconds passed before you heard a door open.

Finally, your body obeyed you and you forced your eyes open, wincing at the bright hospital lights and hideously blank ceiling, but there was Dean, blocking everything out with how goddamn gorgeous he was, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Dean,” you croaked, the smile overtaken by a frown at your dreadfully unsexy voice. A doctor pushed Dean out of the way, and you scowled at being prevented from looking at him.

And then everything else came rushing back.

The ghoul witch, the fight, the blood and pain and  _ everything _ . Every sensation and agony you’d suffered in less than a few hours, and you recoiled internally, before your body twitched and spasmed and…

You vomited down the front of your hospital gown, feeling embarrassed and relieved all at the same time.

“That’ll be the venom,” came another voice, and you saw Sam stood in the doorway, a worried looking Dean at his side. The doctor didn’t say anything about venom, and you watched blankly, trying to process everything as he directed the nurse to get you cleaned up. Another few seconds and both the Winchesters disappeared from sight, leaving you to the medical staff.

It was a blur as you tried to reconstruct everything in your mind, heedlessly following orders from the nurses, allowing them to remove needles and intravenous lines, and check your vitals. Of course, there was the obligatory “you have to stay overnight for observation” line, and you simply nodded without even thinking it through.

Then they finally left you alone to think, and by the time Dean returned with a cup of coffee, you were ready to understand what he’d been trying to say when you’d first swum back to consciousness.

He didn’t speak for the first few moments he was in the room, simply sitting by the side of your bed and offering you the coffee, which you took gratefully. It was always a plus when a hospital had a Starbucks closeby because the vending machines were nobody’s friend.

“So,” you started, running your thumb around the edge of the cup, slightly wary of meeting his gaze, “monsters are real, huh?”

“Yeah,” Dean replied, and you looked up at him, seeing the sheepish expression on his face.

“And you remember everything?” you asked, watching him closely. He nodded. “Well, that’s a relief. You’re totally not an EPA agent.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, I’m not.”

“Who are you?” you whispered, clinging to the coffee cup like it was life itself. “I mean, that - that thing called you a hunter.” Dean nodded again. “A hunter of what?”

“Things that go bump in the night,” he offered, with the dorkiest smile you’d ever seen. You hesitated, still unsure of what that meant, but Dean seemed to pick up on your uncertainty. “It’s a long story. I should probably start from the beginning, and if it all seems too crazy…” he trailed off and you nodded.

“From the beginning,” you agreed, pulling the coffee cup up to your lips, taking a sip as Dean took a deep breath.

“Well, I suppose it all started with my mom…”

*****

Stepping out into the warm evening air was more of a relief than you’d realised. It was odd, knowing that two days ago you’d been almost ripped apart, only for an angel to put you back together, after you’d been saved from a monster you could never imagine.

“Hey.” Dean’s voice distracted you, and you looked up smiling. He hadn’t left the entire time you’d been stuck in the uncomfortable hospital bed; he’d spent a small fortune on coffee and Burger King so you didn’t have to suffer too much. You had a feeling he’d have done the same even if you’d told him to leave after his long story of how he’d ended up crash landing in your life.

“Hey,” you responded, walking to meet him. “You okay?”

His mouth pressed into a thin, contemplative line, and he nodded, before smiling. “Yeah, I’m good. Still struggling to figure out why you’ve decided to not run screaming for the hills but…”

“Call me a die-hard romantic,” you whispered, pushing up onto tiptoes to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Maybe I only got the cliff notes, but I’ve spent a long time hiding away in my little corner of the world.” You smiled, running your hand down his arm to intertwine your fingers with his. “Besides, I don’t think a good person would see this side of the world and turn their back on it.”

“A sane person would,” Dean commented, smiling as he gestured towards the shiny black Chevrolet Impala sat at the side of the road.

“Well, clearly I’m not one of those,” you rebuffed, placing a hand over your chest in mock offense. Dean laughed, opening the passenger door for you, and you climbed in, frowning as you noticed the lack of anyone else in the vehicle. “Where’s Sam?” you questioned, as Dean got in the driver's side.

“He hitched a ride back to the bunker with Cas. Said we should take some time…”

You grinned. “Why do I get the feeling he meant  _ time _ time?”

Dean shrugged, but smirked as he turned the engine over. “No idea what you mean. We’re just gonna go back to yours and pack up your stuff, right?” He didn’t look at you as he pulled the car from the hospital entrance, avoiding an ambulance to pull out onto the main road. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yeah. I’ll put the house on the market. Clear out my dad’s stuff. Might take a couple of months, but I’m bored of having a quiet life. Monsters, angels, demons, all sounds pretty exciting to me.”

“Dangerous,” Dean corrected, giving you a sidelong look. “I’ve known too many people who thought it was exciting and ended up dead.”

You reached over, rubbing his thigh as he returned his eyes to the road. “Okay. Lessen the enthusiasm. I get it.” You sighed, retracting your hand, looking down at your fingers and rubbing at the mark where one of the IVs had been put in. “But, this whole thing… if we’re meant to be together, we gotta work it together, right? Honestly, I’m struggling with the soulmate thing but this… this feels  _ right _ , Dean. More right than anything I’ve ever known in my life. And that’s kind of a big deal.”

He smiled then, glancing over at you as he put his foot down a little. “Yeah. I know. Me too.”

The drive continued in silence, and as Dean pulled the Impala into the driveway of your house, you climbed out, looking up at the front. It wasn’t going to be the last time you’d see the place, but it was very wistful to know you’d never live here again.

Also, slightly terrifying to uproot your life on the basis that you were soulmates with a man you’d only met less than a week ago.

“Everything okay?” said man asked. You nodded, smiling, taking his hand and walking into the house with him. Sam had come back and fixed up the broken window where the ghoul witch had broken in, and he’d also cleaned up all the mess left behind. Even the empty ice cream carton on the sitting room floor was gone, and you sighed as you stopped in the foyer of what would soon be someone else’s house, looking around.

There was so much to do.

“You know, we don’t have to start right away,” Dean muttered, looping his arms around your waist and drawing you back against his chest. “Because, I gotta say, I’ve been having seriously inappropriate thoughts about you for like two days straight.”

You leaned your head back against his shoulder, allowing him perfect access to nip at your neck. “Have you now?”

“Oh, you bet. Like, seriously rated R. Must be the heat scent.”

“I’m practically done with my heat,” you whispered, turning in his arms. “And we’ve barely even kissed.”

Dean bent down, pressing his lips to yours, taking you by surprise, and for a second, you were frozen against him, unsure how to respond. The second you relaxed, his hands grabbed your waist, pulling you flush with him, his hard body pressing into you insistently.

“I see what you mean by R rated,” you panted, breaking away, and Dean grinned. “Are you sure about this?”

“Y/N, you’ve been mine since the second I saw you, whether I knew it or not,” he growled, his face close enough for his lips to brush against yours as he spoke. “I’m gonna take you upstairs, and knot you, and if you say no, I’m gonna combust.”

You smiled, cupping his face with your hands, drawing him in for another deep kiss. “Good thing I’m not gonna say no,” you muttered, yelping in surprise as he hoisted you upwards, hooking your legs around his waist.

It was a difficult journey up the stairs; not being able to keep your hands off of each other made it slightly hazardous, and by the time you reached the bedtime, you were both almost laughing at the lack of grace you possessed.

But then Dean had you on the bed, pinned between his large frame and the mattress, and mirth gave way to whimpers and moans, heated against your skin. His fingers gently tugged at your clothing, stripping you methodically as you returned the favor. 

“How many layers are you wearing?” you commented, as he coaxed your hips from the bed, pulling down your pants and underwear at the same time. A chuckle left him, and you plucked at the undershirt he had remaining on his top half. “Seriously, dude, it’s seventy degrees.”

“I run cool,” he commented, raising an eyebrow. “Did you just call me “dude”?”

You shrugged, finally yanking his boxers and pants down to allow his thick cock to spring free. Dean grunted at the action, and you grinned up at him. “Would you prefer “Alpha”?” His cock twitched and your smile widened. “I think so.”

“You’re trouble,” he muttered, pushing you back down onto the bed. “I’ll have to teach you a lesson.” He kissed you, swallowing down the quippy comeback you had prepared, and you moaned into him. The kiss ended too quickly, and you opened your mouth to protest, only to find Dean slipping down your body, pushing your thighs apart with strong hands, exposing you to him. “Fuck, you smell delicious,” he groaned, sticking out his tongue and running it from bottom of your slit to the top, making you cry out.

You fisted your hands in the sheets, feeling his tongue open you up, teasing at your clit just enough to create a buzz in your core, before abandoning it again. It was frustratingly good, and when Dean growled against you, your hips jerked in response.

“Dean,” you whined, pushing your head back into the mattress, arching your body. Dean took the hint, sucking your clit into his mouth, grazing his teeth lightly over the sensitive nub and you tensed. White hot pleasure burst through your veins and you howled, in a mostly feminine and totally pornagraphic manner, clutching the sheets like you might float away on a cloud if you didn’t.

Coming back to earth, you panted heavily, looking down at Dean, who was nestled between your thighs with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Holy shit,” you whispered. “You’re pretty good at that.”

“Pretty good?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, dropping his mouth back to your throbbing cunt, his tongue resuming its exploration. You quivered with a groan, fingers so tight in the sheets, you thought you might rip them, and you cried out as Dean thrust his tongue into your pussy, curling it to lick at your insides.

“Fuck,” you moaned, unable to stop your hips moving, thrusting against him as he enthusiastically fucked your cunt with his tongue. It was all too much too soon after your first orgasm, and you cried out as the aftershocks ripped through you, slick gushing from your body onto his tongue. Dean lapped it up with gusto, until you were almost unable to breathe, squirming on the bed.

“How about now?” He grinned, crawling back up your shuddering body, lips glistening with your spendings. “Fucking love a woman that comes like that,” he muttered, burying his face in your neck, sucking a dark mark onto the skin.

“Like what?” you breathed, finally releasing the sheets to grab his shoulders. Dean reared back to look down at you, still smiling.

“Without holding back. You’re beautiful, you know that?”

The comment caught you off guard, and you whimpered loudly as he seized your mouth in a kiss, the thick hardness of his cock bouncing against your inner thigh. He wiggled a little, brushing his tip against your entrance, and your pussy clenched in response.

“Want you, Omega,” he growled, thrusting against you. “Want you so fucking much.” You nodded, gasping, unable to articulate the response you wanted. Instead, you reached between your bodies, circling him with your hand, rubbing him against your pussy with  a little more insistence. Dean groaned, rutting against your fingers, and you lined him up, your other hand dropping to grab his ass and guide him home.

The second his cock split you open, you cried out, breathing heavily and out of rhythm until he was seated inside you, filling you to the brim. Dean rested his forehead against yours as he tried to regain his composure, his cock twitching inside you and prompting little noises of pleasure to fall from your lips.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, rotating his hips a little. “Too perfect for me.”

“Shut up,” you replied, smiling at him, returning your hands to his shoulders as he started to move. His thrusts were shallow at first, as if he was getting used to the feel of you wrapped around him, and you couldn’t help but dig your nails into his skin. He hissed, but grinned, quirking an eyebrow at you. “Fuck me, Alpha,” you purred, locking your eyes with his. Dean grunted in agreement, taking your mouth again.

His pace grew harder, but just as slow, each thrust measured with enough force have your hips shaking, the bed shuddering underneath the both of you. His body was pressed close to yours, and his arms snaked underneath your body to hold you as close as possible. Your lips only parted to snag a quick breath of oxygen, like neither of you could get enough of the other, and you felt a little dizzy as his cock slammed into your g-spot hard, over and over.

“Dean, I’m gonna come,” you warned, arching your neck up, wanting to breathe but not wanting to stop kissing him.

“Then come,” he replied, lips moving along your jaw to your neck, his teeth worrying at a spot just above your pulsepoint. A foreign feeling you’d never felt before surged through your veins, and you screamed to high heaven as your climax tore you apart, his teeth solidifying the new sensation into your soul, searing you with his claim.

Time seemed to fuzz as you flexed and pulsed around him, Dean’s cock swelling with his knot inside you, and you found yourself needing it more than anything you’d needed before. He grunted and snarled, fucking into you with reckless abandon, the measured calm of his previous strokes forgotten as his knot locked you together. His orgasm overtook him and he pumped into you, hips hard and almost bruising against your thighs, his lips silencing your whimpers of pleasure as his finish triggered another wave of pleasure in you.

Everything stopped, and slowly, Dean ceased moving on top of you, his arms holding you just as tightly, your sweaty bodies tied together, at least for the meantime. He smiled, pulling his head back a little to look at you, and you returned the smile with a dazed expression of your own, your breathing still a little out of control.

“That was…” you paused, and Dean sniggered.

“If you say “pretty good”, I’m gonna spank you,” he warned, and you giggled.

“It was pretty good.”

He narrowed his eyes, trying hard not to smirk, and eventually giving up, kissing you again to cover up the laughter. “You’re gonna be a handful of an omega,” he whispered. “Better than anything I could have dreamed of.”

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Me?”

“Yeah, you,” he returned. “Seriously, you’re insane for wanting this with me.”

With a wiggle of your hips, you made him groan, and your smile grew. “Maybe I am. But I can’t help feeling that this is the start of something amazing.”

Dean kissed you, quick and chaste, before rolling onto his side and taking you with him. You hooked your leg up over his hip, still locked intimately with him, the warm of his body spreading through yours. He grabbed the covers, tugging them over you both as you huddled comfortably into his side, feeling more content that you’d ever felt before.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “It definitely is.”


End file.
